where the red fern grows
08-06-2013, 05:46 PM
Decisions had been made, questions had been asked, and all arrows pointed to one individual: Pontifex. Inclining his head, the King let out a deafening howl for the man, intent upon summoning he and he alone. Pontifex had joined Seracia rather recently, only a few seasons ago. His arrival came just after his brother's death, and he had nobly asked for his brother's rank of Esquire in efforts to prove himself to the Kingdom. Gerhardt had obliged him the request, and Pontifex had gone above and beyond to prove himself. All of this had been told to him by his father, as had information on other members of the Kingdom. It was this information and careful study that led him to the decision he was about to inform the Esquire of. As his howl tapered off, he let his head fall back to its natural level - slightly above where others carried their heads because he was indeed the King of these parts. Perhaps there was a bit of pride in his step, or the way he carried himself before settling, but the new monarch hardly cared about being prideful - he had a right to be, did he not? A smile crossed the russet man's features as he settled to his haunches, his back to the southern forest, tail curling around his hips. He had every intention of waiting here until Pontifex came, but a plant caught his eye and sent him traveling a few yards into the treeline. There, rising a foot and a half above the ground, was a fern that was of the same hue as his own coat. He'd never seen a red fern before, and it intrigued him greatly. Was this an omen? No, the King hardly believed in such things. He settled to the right of the fern, waiting for Pontifex to come. Speech, |
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